In Sickness and In Health
by GotMyNameInLights
Summary: John has a seizure in the middle of the supermarket that leaves him unconscious. The doctors don't know what caused it, and once they figure it out, it may already be too late. Will John wake up? And how will Sherlock react to having his best friend in the hospital? Possible Johnlock if the story ends up there. Please review! It keeps me writing! Cheylock
1. Chapter 1

"John!" I yell. Where is he? I've been calling him for fifteen minutes. "John!" "What is it Sherlock?" John asks, slightly irate. "Can you pass me my phone?" "Sure, where is it?" "Coat." John sighs, walks across the kitchen, and reaches his hand into my coat pocket. I hold my hand out to him expectantly. With a huff, John places the phone in my hand. Have I done something to upset him? No, I couldn't have. All I wanted him to do was grab my phone.

Besides, I'm in the middle of an chemical examination that could make or break someone's alibi. If I am correct, traces of foliage should show up in the cloth sample, and if it does, it will place Mrs. Cooper at the hotel where her family of eight was brutally murdered instead of at the gas station while she claimed. She definitely was a clever one. She covered her tracks well. Hid the murder weapon out in the country along with most of her family's belongings and claimed to be away from the scene of the crime in order to collect her husband's insurance. Their kids came in while she was bludgeoning her husband's skull with the curtain rod, so she killed them as well. Left no witnesses. Took me three day to get this far, and I'm not going to let something as insignifigent as John being upset about the phone derail my train of thought.

"Sherlock?" John asks hesitantly. "Why is there a jar filled with chicken feet and what appear to be beetles in the fridge?" "Experiment," I say bluntly. There's the vegetation! I take my phone and send a quick text to Lestrade.

_Vegetation matches shrubs outside hotel. Arrest Mrs. Cooper. –SH_

John shuts the fridge and crosses to grab his coat from where he had flung it over a chair minutes earlier. "I have to go to the store. Apparently we're out of milk again. Be back in a bit." I barely mumble a response.

With John out of the house, I take this time to go to my mind palace, just to explore for a while. I haven't done that in forever. Room after room of memories and information. The ones closest to me are filled with memories of John and I, solving crimes, going to the store because he's afraid he'll have another row with a chip and pin machine, and the like. I think about it and realize, I have never been happier than those moments with him. It takes me a few minutes to realize, but my phone is ringing. I glance at the clock. 4:36 in the afternoon. John's been gone a while, I think.

"Hello?" "Hello, is this Sherlock Holmes?" an unfamiliar voice asks from the other end. I check the number. Not one I recognize. "Yes, who is this?" "Hi, I'm calling from Saint Bartholomew's Hospital." Oh, alright. Molly had probably asked for someone at reception to call me about those un-used kneecaps from her cadavers. "We have you listed as the emergency contact for a Mr. John Watson."

I froze. All of my senses went into overdrive. "What has happened to John? What has happened to him?" My voice is shaking. I haven't been this scared since the Baskerville's case. But there is no illegal gases to be blamed now. This is real, this is happening right now. John is at Saint Bart's and god only knows what's happened to him. "He had a seizure in the middle of the grocery store that has currently knocked him unconscious. We got there as soon as we could. We are running some tests, but so far we don't know what caused it. Would you get down here as soon as you can to fill out the paperwork?" "Yes. Yes, of course. I'll be right there." As soon as the phone disconnects, I am down the stairs and out the door. I hail a taxi and all but leap into it. "Where to?" the cabby asks. "Saint Bart's. And step on it."


	2. Chapter 2

As the cab pulled into the parking lot of Saint Bart's, my heart still hasn't slowed down. If it was scientifically possible, I would say it was going a mile a minute. The cab passed by the emergency entrance. "Stop here. Stop please!" The cab screeched to a halt. I paid the cabbie and practically leaped from the cab, sprinting through the parking lot then coming to a halt outside the glass double doors.

I took a deep breath. This is it. I could walk into the hospital alone and walk out with my blogger. Or, I could walk in alone and walk out the same. I didn't know what it would bring. I've faced criminals, assassins, and hallucinated hounds, and I have never been more nervous than I am right now. Or nervous at all for that matter. Weird. I steel myself and push open the doors.

I've never been a fan of hospitals, but my dislike for them only increased with the knowledge that my best friend, my only friend, was behind one of those doors, unconscious. The ER is the worst place to be. It is stark white, to the point where it almost hurts your eyes to look at, and smells of chemicals.

I walked to the receptionist's desk. "Hello. I'm here to see Dr. John Watson." "Sherlock Holmes, I assume," the perky brunette receptionist said. I quickly scanned her over. In a relationship, but has two lovers on the side that her fiancé is oblivious to. Has two, wait, no, three shorthaired kittens at home. Had a small blueberry muffin for breakfast. "Yes, that's me. Can I see him?" "He isn't conscious right now, so you might want to fill out the paperwork while you wait." "And you might want to tell your fiancé about James and Alan. Now, what room was John in again?"

The receptionist stammered, clearly floored. After a few seconds of open- mouthed staring, she spit out "Second floor, room 385." "Thank you." Now, while I'm not a fan of hospitals, it seems like I've spent enough time in this one to learn the layout by heart. So, a day. Up Stairway C, down the corridor, turn left, then right. I am on the outside of Door 385 within minutes. Deep breath, Sherlock, deep breath. You can do this.

I open the door and see the worst thing I have ever seen. John is dressed in a blue hospital gown and tucked under a bleached white sheet. The heart monitor beeping in a steady rhythm in the corner show that, while John may look like hell, he is okay at the moment. Well, I hope he is. I really hope he is. There must be something wrong with him to have caused that seizure. But I won't worry about that right now.

Crossing the room, I get my first good look at him. He really does look like hell. He has bags upon bags under his eyes. Apparently my poor sleeping habits have been rubbing off on him. I'll remind him to get more sleep when he wakes up. If he wakes up. Wait, why am I letting myself think like that! "He'll wake up," I whisper to myself. "He has to." And that is when I see the gash running across his temple. He must have hit his head on the chip and pin machine when he went down, which would explain why he looks so pale. He must have lost a lot of blood on top of the seizure. Crap. As if this could get any worse.

I grab a chair away from the wall and pull it up next to John's bed. I sit down and cross my legs, pulling my coat slightly tighter around myself. Good god it's cold in these rooms! I'll have to ask them to change that. After buttoning it up, I look at John's face. I don't study it or try to deduce anything from it. I just look. He looks like he's hurting. I wish I could make it better, but I know I can't. It kills me a little bit inside to know that. I slowly lift up the sheet and take John's hand. "Please wake up, John. Please wake up." I take his hand and bring it to my lips lightly. What? Why did I just do that? And why is my thumb slowly swiping over knuckles? I am overthinking this. I settle down in the uncomfortable hospital chair, and get ready for a long, uncomfortable night at Saint Bart's.


	3. Chapter 3

It's about midnight when I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Mr. Holmes?" I ignore it. If it is something important it can wait until morning. Besides, I hardly get any sleep as it is, let alone in an uncomfortable hospital chair. "Mr. Holmes?" Surely if I pretend I am fast asleep they won't keep badgering me. "Mr. Holmes?" God, they are persistent. I pretend to rouse from my sleep. "Yes?" "We really do need you to fill out this paperwork, otherwise we will be forced to discharge Mr. Watson." Without a moment's hesitation, I take the clip board and begin to fill out the information.

**_Full Name_**_: Dr. John Hamish Watson_

**_Date of Birth_**_: July 7__th__, 1978_

**_Gender_**_: Male_

**_Blood Type_**_: AB positive _(don't even ask me how I know that. It was an experiment.)

**_Description of Incident_**_: seizure inside a grocery store, which led to falling and hitting temple on the corner of a chip and pin machine. Gash along temple. Unconsciousness followed soon after. A reasonable amount of blood was lost._

**_If being filled out by someone other than patient, answer the following:_**

**_Full Name_**_: Sherlock Holmes_

**_Date of Birth_**_: January 6__th__, 1977_

**_Blood Type_**_: O negative_

**_Relationship with Patient_**_: Flatmate/Best Friend_

I had a very hard time answering the last question. What exactly was my relationship with John? I mean, I know what I wanted to put down. _Boyfriend_. Or even, in a perfect universe…_Husband_. But I had to be honest with myself. Whether or not John reciprocated my feelings for him wasn't the problem. I would be a terrible boyfriend. I accidentally insult him on an almost daily basis and he has been in the hospital more than once thanks to him being my friend. I don't even want to imagine what Moriarty would do to him if he found out we were boyfriends. A shiver runs through me at the thought.

I hand the chart back to the doctor. "Thank you." I only nod in response. I take John's hand again. He is still unconscious, but the steady _beep…beep…..beep_ of the heart monitor remind me that he is alright for now. _Beep….beep….beep_.

I wish I could say something, anything to wake him up. Just to see his smile again. I never knew how much I'd miss him if he was out of my life now. Sure, I lived without him before, but now I realize that wasn't really living at all. I was severely broken. And then John came into my life and he was the only one with the patience to put me back together again. I sigh, knowing that there is no magic word. But I need to say something, if nothing else to fill the horrible silence in the room that is only broken by the heart monitor and the drip of John's IV. "Hello, John. I….don't really know what to say….you'd laugh at me now. The great Sherlock Holmes, rendered speechless by a little blonde man wearing a hospital gown." I chuckle a little. "I need you back, John. And I know it's only been a couple of hours, but I already can't stand you not being in my life. You're my better half, John. You've stopped me from making a complete ass of myself time and time again. You ran through the streets of London with me after I had a hunch that the man in a taxi had murdered four people. Our first case together. I just want you to know, John, I'm not leaving the hospital until you wake up. So please, spare my having to eat hospital cafeteria food and wake up. I won't even leave if I get a text about a case. I'm staying here, alright?" I'm not sure what I was expecting. I think my subconscious thought that these words could wake John from his sleep. I don't know. All I know is that, whatever I was expecting, it didn't happen. John still lay still in the blue, papery hospital gown, unconscious. _Beep….beep…..beep_.

If I'm going to keep my promise to John, I'm going to need a little help from my….friends. I use the term loosely, because in this case I mean Mycroft and Lestrade. I take out my phone and send a text to them both.

_John is in the hospital. I'm staying with him. I'm not sure how long I'll be staying. I need your help. –SH_

It only takes Lestrade a couple of minutes to respond with what I figured his response would be.

_Oh my god! What happened, Sherlock?! Was it Moriarty again? I swear to god, I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch._

Luckily, I had prepared a text message earlier explaining what happened. I hit send. Thirty seconds later, Mycroft (or more than likely Anthea) responded.

_I'll send clothes and your toothbrush. –MH_

I'll most likely be here a while. 


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hey you guys! I hope you like the story so far! Sorry I haven't updated in a while. My grades have been slipping and my parents took away my laptop until they were back up. Anyways, hope you like this chapter! Make sure to review, favorite, and alert. It keeps me writing. :)**_ _**~Cheylock**_

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I have been in the hospital for three days now. I have so far kept my promise to John that I wouldn't leave, but I desperately need a shower. Now, in hospital rooms, there are usually bathrooms with showers in them for patients who may be there for a long period of time. And while John may be here for an extended period of time, so will I. I gently squeeze John's hand and vacate the seat I have been occupying for the past couple of days.

I duck into the bathroom. _Okay. _I think, _This is going to have to be fast. You don't want the hospital staff catching you._ Stripping off the suit that Mycroft had brought me, I fold it gently over the towel rail and put on my dressing gown. After I get the water to a temperature that is no longer the equivalent to the Atlantic Ocean or Mordor, I step into the shower. _Good God, does that feel amazing._

I let my mind wander, but as always the last couple of days, it lands on John. And that is truly when the realization kicks in. That I may never speak to my best friend ever again. I grip at the wall, looking for purchase, something, ANYTHING, to keep me from falling into the deep, dark pit that is this situation. At least when Moriarty had threatened to shoot John or blow him up I could do something to stop it. But this…this I'm just helpless against. And it just kills me. It kills me a little inside every time I see John in that hospital gown. And it kills me a little whenever a doctor comes in to change his IV. Because I know, that whatever I did, there is no way I could have stopped this.

Finding no purchase on the smooth walls, my back slides down the wall closest to the showerhead, and I end up on the floor of the shower. My knees to my chest, I place my head in my hands, and begin to cry. I don't think I have ever cried before in my life, although here I am, on the floor of a shower in a hospital, crying. I don't want to lose John. I can't. I love him.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Hey guys! What do you think of the story so far? Make sure to review! It keeps me writing! ~Cheylock_**

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I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Mr. Holmes?" Oh my god, what now? I blink sleepily awake and arch my back, feeling it crack in the process. Jeez, sleeping in a hospital chair does not do wonders for lumbar support. I check my watch. Oh. It is roughly twenty after two. How on Earth did I sleep that long? John would be proud of me, considering he has to beg me to sleep at home. But here there is little else to do in this hospital. It is either that or go down to the lab to run tests on kneecaps of the cadavers, but that would involve having to see Molly, and I honestly do not have the patience for that at the moment.

I look up, and see a man in a white lab coat. He looks around thirty four and a half, one hundred and sixty pounds. He has a scruffy five o'clock shadow that shows he was out all last night. He is probably feeling the effects of one too many beers right now. I take a look at his eyes and catch him wince in the harsh light of the fluorescent bulbs. Yep. Definitely one too many beers. But then I look into his eyes and see something there that I _really_ wish I hadn't. I see dread. That is a look that you never want to see in a doctor's eyes. _Shit. Whatever this is, it's going to be bad._

"Yes, doctor? How can I help you?" "Mr. Holmes, we have the test results back on Mr. Watson. Unfortunately, I wish I came bearing better news." _Double shit! _"Well, what is it?" "Unfortunately, Mr. Watson has a tumor roughly the size of a golf ball in the frontal lobe of his brain." Every cell in my body shuts down for a mili-second. John. My John. My blogger. My best friend in the world. Has a brain tumor. My blood runs ice cold through my veins. My head is pounding. _I should have known! John has been complaining about headaches for weeks! I should have known. I should have known. _

"We ran some tests and unfortunately, they showed that the tumor is in fact malignant. We are going to have to prep him for surgery immediately." "What? He's not even conscious now! You can't put him under anesthetic! He could die!" "Yes, but if we don't, he most definitely will. Your choice, Mr. Holmes."

My brain goes into overdrive, thinking over every possible scenario. In the end, I know the decision I need to make. It doesn't mean I want to, though. "Prep him." "Thank you so much, Mr. Holmes. We will do everything we can for him." The doctor rushes past me to the bed. He carefully disconnects John's IV, and with that, whisks him out of the room, bed and all, leaving me completely and utterly alone.

* * *

Sitting in a hospital room alone is one of the worst things in the world. Especially if you know that the person you love the most in the world is having life or death surgery just down the hall. I need to do something. I need to talk to someone.

I take my phone out of my jacket pocket, and scroll through the contact list. I stare at the number displayed, weigh the fact that I will never hear the end of this against my need for company, and click the _call_ button. After two rings, the phone is picked up. "Hello?" "Mycroft? It's Sherlock. I...I just got some…news, and….well…..I don't think I should be alone right now. Could you come to Saint Bart's? Please?" "On my way, little brother."

* * *

After sitting in John's empty room for another twenty or so minutes, I hear a knock on the door. "Come in." I hear the knob turn and the door open. I don't need to turn around to know it's Mycroft, but I do anyways. I stand up and walk towards my brother. "So, what's wrong with John?" I just look at him. I can tell that he knows I am in pain. "John has a….a brain tumor. It's malignant." "Oh, Sherlock." Mycroft closes the space between us and wraps his arms around my middle. Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder. Right now, I am not Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. No. Right now…..right now I'm just Sherlock, the man looking for a hand to hold.


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft holds me in his arms for about an hour before my sense of dignity kicks in and I have him sit next to me in another chair that had been provided by one of the nurses after witnessing my….display. We have been sitting in silence, not awkward silence, but not exactly comfortable silence either. The kind of silence in which both people are so deep in thought, neither of them has the time to speak. Mycroft is the first to break it. "How long does he have?" "I don't know." I look at Mycroft, the pain clear in my eyes. I know it is there, and I can't do anything to wipe it away. "It's killing me, Mycroft. I hate not knowing things. How things are going to pan out. It's driving me mad!" "You weren't already there?" He moves his chair slightly closer to mine and places his hand on my knee. "He'll be okay, Sherlock. He's John, for Christ's sake! The man who made **you** come to your senses and show a little decency. I don't think there is anything that man can't do."

Just then, a nurse scuttles into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. "Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson's surgery is finished. He is currently resting in the recovery ward, if you would like to follow me." "Is he alright?" "We're not certain. It will take a while to figure out…." "JUST…..just tell me, honestly. Is John going to live?" "We don't know."

I push past the nurse, hear Mycroft utter a small apology to her for my rudeness, and find my way down several hallways until I reach the recovery ward. I don't know what I expected to see there. The John I know, maybe, sitting upright in bed sipping on orange juice to make sure he didn't faint. Whatever I was expecting, nothing in my mind prepared me for the sight that was now before me. It was the same John, my John. But he looked….for the first time, he _actually_ looked…..sick. He is now hooked up to far more machines than before. Heart monitors, IV's with liquids of all different colors, a couple arterial lines, a chest tube. And to top it all off….he's bald. I mean, I should have seen it coming. Of course they would have to shave his head for the surgery. But….all of the curly dirty blonde locks that I had grown to love are gone. They're probably resting on the floor of the operating room, if they aren't already in the dumpster. I mean, I know it's stupid to get so upset about John losing his hair. I mean, I didn't fall in love with him for his hair. But….it was just a part of who he was and now…now it's just gone. He just seems a little less like John now, and a little more like the sick, broken version of John. And it scares the crap out of me. I pull the chair out of the corner of the room and place it next to John's bed, and before I sit down, I move to the head of the bed and stroke my thumb across John's cheek. "Hey John. You just got out of surgery. You have a brain tumor. If it was me, I'd probably call it dull, but I know you wouldn't. I mean, being that you're a doctor, you know what your chances are. Hell, even I know that they aren't good. But please, John. You've always helped me perform my little miracles. So please. One more miracle, for me, please. Just don't….don't die. Could you do that, for me, please? Just don't….." I collapse into the chair beside the bed and put my head in my hands. It is going to be a LONG night.


	7. Chapter 7

_One_

_One o five_

_One ten_

_One twenty_

_One twenty two_

_One twenty five_

My god. How has it only been twenty five minutes since John got out of surgery?! It seems like an eternity!

Just as I am about to get really restless and call a nurse in order to pester her about the surgery details, I hear the curtain rustle a bit. "Mycroft, I'm fine now. I'm done with my dramatics. You can go home to your cake now." "Um, Sherlock? Can I come in?" Crap, it's Molly. Then again, I have been in her place of employment for the past week or so. It was only a matter of time. "Yeah, sure Molly. Come in."

Molly walks in and sits down beside me. She is very clearly walking on eggshells here, because no matter what she does right now, she believes that she will get a verbal lashing from me. And on a normal day, I would, but I am so unbelievably drained that I am just thankful for the company of even her. "Can I help you, Molly?" I look at her. She is very obviously at the end of a long shift, probably eighteen hours, as her hair is in a slight disarray and her clothes are slightly rumpled as if she had almost fallen asleep in them. "Um, it's just that I heard about John through the grapevine and I thought, well….I thought maybe you might need someone to lean on through all of this. It was stupid really. I should go." Molly gets up rather quickly to leave, but I reach out to grab her hand to keep her here. "Molly…you don't have to go….if you don't want to. I'd be thankful for your company." Molly looks clearly shocked, probably mostly due to the fact that I haven't released her hand yet. I let it go, and she sits back down. "I am so sorry, Sherlock. I came as soon as I heard." "It's alright. It's taken a while to get used to the fact that John is so sick, but I've accepted it." That is such a blatant lie. Even though I know John's chances, I still haven't accepted the fact that I might not walk out of this godforsaken place with him. I don't think I ever will.

"Fancy a coffee?" "You know what? A coffee may be just what I need right now." We get up and begin to walk out. _Remember, manners, Sherlock! _I can hear John whisper in my mind, so I brush the curtain out of the way and let Molly through first. _Good man. Now behave!_

When we get out to the cafeteria, Molly whips us up a batch of her surprisingly delicious coffee and we sit and talk for a little while. After chatting for a little while, I come to discover that Molly, while she has a lot of undesirable qualities, can be a very good friend. Especially in times of trouble.

On our way back to the recovery ward, I take the first good look around the place that I have since I first got here. It is all decked out in greens and reds and holly around every corner. Oh. It must be Christmas. I'd been so involved in the case and John that I hadn't noticed. I had gotten John a gift in July to prepare, but now I may never be able to give it to him. It was a jumper the same color as the purple shirt that he said he loved on me. He was so excited for Christmas. He'd bought a tree and everything. Holly, lights, nativity set, the works. And seeing the same things here in this stark white space…..it doesn't seem right. It seems really out of place, like it is some sort of strange parallel world.

I am snapped back to reality when I feel Molly tug at the base of my suit jacket. I'm practically pulled to the floor with her, but I place my arms below her as she falls. She had been walking backward, talking to me animatedly about something I wasn't paying attention to. Molly lands in my arms and stares at me with wide eyes. She stammers slightly. "Th….thanks Sherlock. My shoe must have been…un…untied." She looks up into my eyes, cheeks flushed, then quickly looks away, embarrassed to realize that I was looking back. She looks past my hair at something on the ceiling. Whatever it was, it made her blush scarlet. "My god, Molly. What is it? Your face is as red as a tomato." "Um…Sherlock? You…..you caught me under the mistletoe."

I look up above my head and sure enough, the green sprigs with white berries is hanging just above it. _BE. NICE. SHERLOCK. _I can practically hear John screaming it in my head. I put on my best seductive expression, complete with the sultry eyes and crooked half smile that I knew drove her crazy, and say in an alluring tone, "Well, so I have." I make my eyes sparkle, knowing that I am doing so. I am perfectly aware of what I am doing to her. I let my smile get slightly larger. "Well, who am I to stand in the way of Christmas tradition?" I take a hand from the small of her back and brush a strand of hair out of her face. My hand rests where her jaw meets her neck. Her pulse has increased substantially. Fantastic. I lean forward, closing my eyes, and touch my lips to hers very softly. She seems shocked that I am actually kissing her, so she holds back a little bit, but relaxes after a couple of seconds. I grip her chin and deepen the kiss and she is receptive to the point of desperation. I deepen the kiss once more, and she straightens, no longer being supported by my arms, and wraps her arms around the back of my neck. One more small kiss on the lips, and I pull back. "I really need to go check to see how John is doing." "Yeah…..yeah, of course Sherlock." "Merry Christmas, Molly." I lean forward one more time and kiss her cheek softly, with all the tenderness I can muster. I then turn and begin to walk towards the recovery ward. I smile to myself slightly. There. That oughta make her blog.

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**_Hey guys! I came up with the idea for the Sherlock/Molly kiss last night while trying to get to sleep. Hope you liked it. And here is the link to Molly Hooper's blog, in case you are curious about what goes on in the BBC character's mind. J_**

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**_Hope you guys liked the chapter. Make sure to review! It keeps me writing! ~Cheylock_**


	8. Forum Discussion

**_Hey guys! Alright, so I have been having a REALLY hard time coming up with the next chapter for this story. Like, I have been trying SOOOOO hard, and i just can't seem to think of anything! It is SUPER irritating! So, I created a forum and if you visit it and give me an idea, you have a chance to get a shout out in the next chapter! YAY! Please help! I really need it. :)_**

**_Here is the link to the forum:_**

**_ myforums/GotMyNameInLights/3949539/_**

**_~Cheylock_**


	9. Chapter 8

**_Hey guys! Sorry I haven't updated in a bit. It's been crazy at school and my Geometry homework has been KILLER. :P Anyways, here's a new chapter for you. Hope you like it! J_**

**_~Cheylock_**

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Another two days have passed. I don't know what I expected to have happened by now. In an ideal universe, John would be up by now, with me by his side, rushing through the streets of London after some criminal. However, here he is, just laying in the bed, same as he was a week and a half ago, with the exception of the stubble that has begun to accumulate along his jaw line and cheeks. I brush the back of my hand across John's cheek, longing to look into the eyes that I have grown to love so much. But all I am met with are closed eyelids. God, I miss him so much.

_Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep_

SHIT! Shit shit shit! John's heart rate moniter is going haywire! Oh god, oh god oh god! I clutch at John's hand, desperate to give him something to ground him, knowing in my heart that it will do no good. Nurses in the hallway rush in, followed by two doctors. "Shit, he's coding. Get the crash cart!" One of them shouts at one of the nurses, who comes back two seconds later with a cart loaded with supplies. "We've lost an airway, we're going to have to intibate him." They take a long metal looking clamp from the cart, flick it open, run a tube through, and then shove it down John's throat. They then take what appears to be a super small version of a purple exercise ball attached to a face mask, place it over the tube and John's mouth, and begin to sqeeze the ball while another doctor rips open John's gown, places down two orange pads on his chest, then proceeds to grab the defibulator paddles off the cart. "Clear!" The paddles go down. _ZAP!_ John's back arches. Nothing. "Clear!" Down. _ZAP! _Arch.

All of this passes in a blur, like I'm not really here. Like this is all some horrible dream. Like this is happening to someone else and I just happen to be watching it. Because what I hear next brings my whole world to a screeching halt.

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep_

No. Oh god, no. Please. Please no. "John!" I shout, the desperateness in my mind betraying me in my voice. At this point, I don't care. I can't lose him. I can't. "JOHN!" I shake his shoulders. The nurses pull me back so the doctors can try to bring him back to me. **"CLEAR!" ****_ZAP! _**Arch.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

The room lets out a collective sigh of relief. The doctors look at me, but I don't care. I drop to my knees next to John's bed and kiss the back of his hand and smile through the tears that fall down my cheeks. Thank god. I don't think I could live without him. Strike that. I know I couldn't.

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After regaining what little dignity I can muster, I take to my chair next to the bed again. What I don't expect to see is John's eyebrows scrunch together and eyes squint slightly. "John?" His eyelids flutter and suddenly the bright blue eyes that I love so much and that I have longed to see for this past week are looking straight into mine. But there is something in them….something is off. After coughing slightly, John looks back to me. Oh, how I have longed to see his face move again. "John, oh my god, JOHN!" All the dignity flies out the window again as I throw my arms around his neck and bury my head in his shoulder. The tears are back again, but I don't care. "I'm so glad you are alright!" After I pull back and sit once again in my chair, John just looks at me puzzled, and says in a small voice, "I'm sorry, but…..who are you?"


	10. Chapter 9

**_Thanks sooooo much for all the wonderful reviews guys! It truly is a wonderful thing to wake up in the morning to see your email flooded with new followers and reviews. It really brightens my day. J Anyways, here's the new chapter! Love you guys! ~Cheylock_**

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My eyes go wide. "John, it's…..it's me." "Sorry, sir, but I don't know who you are. Have we met?" My heart falls into my stomach at those words. "John," I say frantically, desperate even, "John, it's me. It's Sherlock." "No….no sorry. I really don't think we've met. That is a wonderful name though. Sherlock. Sounds like something that would come out of a detective story." "Actually, I am a detective." "Really?" "Yeah," I say sadly. John doesn't remember me. He doesn't remember anything. Oh my god. I think this might be worse than him dying. Because, here he is, John, my John, all awake and well, but he doesn't remember his best friend in the world. And he could just go on not knowing, forever. No. No, I won't allow that. If he has to get to know me again, he will.

"So, _detective_, can you tell me what I am doing in a hospital room?" "You had a seizure in the grocery store that left you unconscious for about a week. The doctors found out that what had caused the seizure was in fact a malignant tumor in your frontal lobe and they had to operate on you." "Ah. That would explain the lack of hair," he chuckled. Same old John. He would remember that he used to have hair. "Apparently something happened to your brain that is causing some amnesia. Before the seizure, I was your best friend, and flatmate! And, I hope to god that you don't remember me saying this when the amnesia goes away, but I was madly, MADLY in love with you, and you didn't give me the time of day. I love you, John. I love you so much it hurts sometimes and I…..I just wanted to let you know that I haven't left this hospital the entire time you've been here. I have been here the entire time, sitting by your bed, just hoping that I could hear you laugh again, or see your eyes. And now you don't remember me. And that kills me. And I'm so sorry that you have lost all of the wonderful memories that we have made together. We have chased criminals through London streets, we have dodged bullets so many times, you couldn't count them. You've gotten kidnapped a couple of times, but I was always there to save you, because I love you John."

"That…..that was beautiful, Sherlock. And I'm so sorry that I don't remember, but I really wish I could. Now, why don't you sit down and try to help me remember. Just…..ask me simple questions and maybe that will trigger something?" "Alright. We can try that." Scooting my chair closer to John's bed, I remove the phone from my pocket and flip to the pictures. "I am going to show you pictures, and you try to tell me what or who they are, alright?" "Okay. Let's try it." John smiles at me, and it really looks like he is going try this. Because, in his eyes, the special glisten that they held only when he was around me was still there. Maybe there is still hope yet.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Hey guys! Sorry for not updating in a while. I just had total writers block for a while. But I'm back now, and I've finally updated! Yay! Make sure to review. It keeps me writing. :) **_

_**~Cheylock**_

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I flipped to my pictures and began with one of the sitting room. "Do you know where this is?" I asked. "Um...no, sorry," John said softly. "Don't apologize, John," I murmured, taking his hand in mine. "It's completely alright." I then flipped to a picture of the members of the Yard. The picture included Lestrade, Sally, and even *shiver* Anderson. He hoped that John would get this one. "What about them? Do you remember them?" "Um...they work for the Yard, right?" "Yes, they do!" I said happily. This is certainly progress. "Do you remember their names?" "I...no. I don't." "That's alright," I said, squeezing his hand a little in reassurance. I pointed at the picture and the people in it. "This is Lestrade. His first name is Greg, and he's the one who gives us all our cases. Next to him is Sally Donovan. She calls me a freak all the time, and she's secretly shagging the man standing next to her, who's name is Anderson. He's the biggest moron you'll ever meet, yet he attempts to act smart, which makes him all the more annoying." John chuckled softly. "Okay, so..Greg, Sally, and Anderson?" "Right," I said, nodding in affirmation. "Shall we move on?" I asked. "Sure."


End file.
